


Cricket

by peppermintquartz



Series: Cricket [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Comfort, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9330359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: When Baze returned, Chirrut had already lost his sight.





	

“Baze?” Chirrut called out tentatively when he heard someone moving about in the kitchenette.

The fever had swept NiJedha, and not even the inhabitants of the Temple had been spared. Chirrut was one of the few initiates who lived. He counted himself lucky; the only thing taken from him was his sight. Kelke and Qahrun lost the use of their limbs, and were sent to the lower floors. It was impossible for them to be guardians. There were fifteen others who died from that virulent fever. Fortunately, Chirrut still had the use of his arms and legs, and he was slowly adapting to his blindness. In time and with diligent training, he would be able to wield his quarterstaff with as much finesse as he had done prior to the fever.

Much to Chirrut's relief, Baze had been off-world with one of the masters, and escaped the worst of the disease. He had just come home yesterday, only to discover that Chirrut was newly blind. That had been something Chirrut wished he could have softened the blow of, but he had not known what to say. The Force did not guide his tongue in that moment. Baze had characteristically said little and strode out of their shared quarters after a meal that had mostly been eaten in silence.

Chirrut had fallen asleep waiting for his friend.

“I'm here,” said Baze gruffly. He was walking loudly, Chirrut realized with a pang, but he knew it was how Baze showed his concern.

Chirrut held out a hand and reached for him. “You were either out all night or you sneaked back late enough that I didn't hear you.”

“I needed to think,” said Baze, sitting next to Chirrut and taking the slender but strong hand between his own rough palms. His thick fingers closed warm and reassuring about Chirrut's. “I needed to pray.”

Chirrut smiled. With his free hand he reached for Baze's face, cupping his stubbled jaw and drawing him close. He rested his brow against Baze's and just breathed him in, and felt something in his heart settle.

They knew they were more than friends, more than partners. They had known this for years, and danced about the fact like twin stars around a fixed point. The masters had remarked on their bond from the start, when five-year-old Chirrut who had just entered the temple barreled straight into six-year-old Baze, clutching him and wailing when he was made to let go. They had entered the temple around the same time and both had ascended the ranks at the same pace, but neither had ever explicitly acknowledged what lay between them.

Now Chirrut wondered if it was too late.

“It's not too late,” Baze murmured. Chirrut then realized that he had uttered the last thought aloud. Baze sighed and pressed closer. “If you want me, I'm yours.”

“I'm blind, Baze,” said Chirrut, because one of them had to say it. The statement hung in the air like a blade over their necks. “I don't want to become your burden.”

Baze's grip tightened on Chirrut's hand. “You will never be a burden, Cricket. I'll make sure you become even better than me at everything. You won't ever be a burden to me.”

 _Cricket_. That old nickname, long unused, when Chirrut was all lanky limbs and bright laughter and leaping about the training circle. With a shaky exhalation, Chirrut skated the fingers of his free hand to Baze's mouth. He remembered how Baze looked, with his large ears and soft eyes, his lips that seemed to be curved into a little sardonic smile all the time. He wondered how Baze was looking at him right now.

Then he kissed Baze, his fingertips lingering at the corners of their mouths.

He felt rather than heard Baze's sharp intake of breath. When Baze let go of his right hand, Chirrut slid his arms over the other initiate's broad shoulders to pull him closer. At first it was clumsy, noses bumping, teeth scraping over lips, too much eagerness. Then it was perfect.

Baze smelled like Jedha, like the Temple, like the Force: he smelled of sun and clean sweat and tea, all good things, and he was _strong_ , strong enough to crush Chirrut against himself but his hands were gentle, so gentle, as if he could shatter Chirrut. It made tears sting Chirrut's blind eyes and he allowed himself to cry for the first time since he woke into darkness. Baze did not hush him. He just kissed away the tears reverently, tenderly, holding his Cricket so close they could hear each other's heartbeats.

Chirrut would have Baze be fearless and rough with him again, as they used to be in the training circle. But at this moment, this was a healing for them both.

 


End file.
